


Sick Day (Sick Week)

by Maymo



Series: Tails and Whiskers [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cat, Common Cold, Gen, Heat Stroke, Scout being an idiot, Sickfic, Whump, i dont know what else to tag, sick Scout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maymo/pseuds/Maymo
Summary: Scout was definitely not sick. No way. He didn't get sick. That was the moment a painful cough decided to wrench itself out of his throat.
Relationships: Scout & Medic (Team Fortress 2)
Series: Tails and Whiskers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112465
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Sick Day (Sick Week)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a short sickfic and it ended up growing into 9K words, so sorry bout that. I am incapable of writing short fanfics.
> 
> This work is a part of a series but you don't have to read the other story to get this one. There'll just be a few references to that story here and there, and also there is a cat. Other than that, everything should be clear. So enjoy!

Scout sneezed for the sixth time in an hour, making his shot go wide, completely missing the BLU Pyro that he had been aiming for.

It was starting to get pretty ridiculous.

This had been happening since the beginning of the week, and it was Wednesday already. The sneezing hadn’t been a problem at the very beginning, only happening every now and then, but as the week progressed they became more frequent, to the point where he would sneeze about a dozen times a day.

Now normally he wouldn’t mind much. Quite frankly Scout enjoyed the feeling of sneezing. There was something very nice about the scratchy feeling at the back of his throat before every sneeze and the burst of air leaving his lungs and making his mind buzz pleasantly every time it happened. But it definitely wasn’t fun when it happened so often, to the point where it was messing up his performance in the fights.

Scout always made sure to keep his scores up, to never let them drop too low, lest he got kicked off the team for it. And seeing the high numbers at the end of every week helped remind him that he wasn’t completely useless, that this was something that he was actually good at.

His scores had dipped just a little ever since his body decided that going an hour without sneezing was absolutely unacceptable and it made him anxious. He knew that it was probably fine, his scores were still just as high as the rest of the team’s, but a small part of him, the part that was never satisfied with him, couldn’t help but scold him for his incompetence.

But it was fine.

He was _fine_.

Scout turned a corner, firing off two quick shots at the enemy Engie that was trying to set up behind the house, before also destroying the mini sentry that he had begun to build. Then he was off again, looking for the next potential victim to feed his bullets to. His feet pounded against the rocky ground, kicking up dust in his wake and making his pulse pound in sync with his steps.

Oh how he loved running. The feeling of the wind rustling his hair and caressing his skin, the hard ground beating against the soles of his feet and the pleasant ache in his legs that made him feel so incredibly alive. Running, he thought, was something he would never ever get tired of. His Ma used to say that he could run better than he could walk, which didn’t really make all that much sense, but he figured that it was true enough. The first memories of himself that he could remember were him running—running to catch up with his big brothers, racing the cars that drove through the city, chasing the stray dogs around the block; always running.

Running was in his blood, it was what defined him, what made him Scout, what made him _Jeremy._ It was what connected all the different versions of him. The him that was five and a half years old and loved looking at the books with the pictures even if he couldn’t read the words, the him that was twelve and didn’t understand why he had no dad to play baseball with, the him that was eighteen and didn’t get into college despite trying _so hard,_ and the twenty four year old him that earned money by killing people on a daily basis. Running was what they all had and running was what he would continue to have.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, preparing to rush an unsuspecting Sniper when suddenly his chest seized once, twice, and then another sneeze wrenched its way out of his throat.

In one swift movement the Sniper whirled around, aiming his rifle directly at Scout’s forehead and then Scout was stumbling out of respawn, the familiar dizziness of dying and being brought back to life making his head swim before he managed to steady himself.

And there it was again, another perfectly, or rather—imperfectly—placed sneeze completely ruining his shot at well, getting a shot.

Instead of rushing out to the fight again Scout instead took a seat on one of the wooden benches by the supply closet to rest a little bit (and to scold himself for fucking up again). It was mainly the former that he was concerned about.

For some reason he’d been getting very tired very quickly in the last few days, and at times he even had some trouble with pulling in enough air, or at least that’s what it felt like. Maybe that was just him blowing things out of proportion. One of his Ma’s boyfriends had always said that he was just being dramatic, that he liked to exaggerate things.

Yeah that was probably it.

He was completely fine and his mind was just making up excuses for him so he could slack off. Scout pulled himself to his feet, ready to get back to work when there was a loud crackling over the loudspeaker and The Administrators voice filtered through, announcing that the battle was over for the day.

Scout glanced at the clock that hung by the far wall, quietly ticking away, the hands decidedly _not_ in the position that they usually were when work ended. In fact, they were off by almost two hours.

Weird.

Scout wasn’t complaining though, more than happy with the extra hours of free time, and with a small shrug he turned on his heel and headed straight for the teleporter that would take him back to the base.

He was the first one back, probably on account of the others being out actually fighting and doing their job unlike him. Whatever, it didn’t matter much (except it did) and Scout just headed for his room, ready to laze around in his bed until dinner, or until he got bored.

Halfway up the stairs to the second floor he came across Cat, who was sitting, or rather crouching, on the railing, looking as happy as ever. He perked up once he noticed Scout and got up from his crouched position and made his way towards Scout across the railing effortlessly. Cat croaked a happy little _meow_ in greeting and Scout ran his hand across his rough fur as he passed him.

There was a heavy _thump_ followed by a quiet _tap, tap, tap_ as Cat jumped down and quickly ran to catch up with Scout, who was already up the stairs and turning around a corner.

While Cat had been hanging out with everyone on the base since the first time that he actually went outside of Scout’s room all those months ago, he still seemed to like Scout the best out of everyone. Demo would probably argue that he liked him better since he had been spoiling Cat with all sorts of tasty goodies, but it was clear in the way that Cat stuck to Scout like glue whenever they were in the same room that Scout was and would remain Cat’s favorite. The fact of it made his heart ache in the same pleasant way his Ma’s hugs did. Scout always smiled smugly whenever Cat chose to sit in _his_ lap instead of everyone else’s on movie nights.

So it was no surprise that Cat accompanied Scout to his room, all too happy to sleep on top of the soft pillows on Scouts bed and get all his grey furs all over the covers. Scout paused at that thought, stopping full bodily in the middle of the room and turning to look at Cat, who was already sitting on his bed, back paw rapidly scratching behind his ear, throwing strands of fur in every direction of the room.

There’s an idea—maybe this whole sneezing thing was because of Cat.

As if on cue Scout felt the familiar tickle at the back of his throat, before he let out another sneeze, making Cat jump a bit at the sudden noise, his eyes wide and ears perked up, as he looked around wildly.

That would make a lot of sense—plenty of people were allergic to animal fur, so it would be no surprise if he also got irritated by it, especially since Cat had been shedding _a lot_ lately. Probably because of the heat wave that was sweeping over New Mexico in the wake of the few cold weeks that had come before that. It was making the already hot days damn near unbearable, especially since they had to spend almost half the day outside, fighting. The BLU team Soldier had already fainted once, his brain probably cooked alive underneath that helmet of his.

Maybe that was the reason the fight had been called to a stop. Perhaps The Administrator had taken pity on them, and decided to wait for the heat to pass before making them go out and blow each other up again.

The heat had also made the battle fields so much more dusty (not that they were ever not dusty) and after a few hours of the two teams running around constantly, there was a heavy layer of dust hanging in the air, kicked up by the constant movement. Scout had thought that maybe that was the cause for the sneezing problem, but since the sneezing was pretty constant both inside the base as well as outside in the dust, he had figured that that probably wasn’t it.

But if he followed his own reasoning, Cat couldn’t be the problem either, because unless the feline had been sneaking away from the base and walking miles to the battle field his fur would be nowhere near there and therefore wouldn’t be able to be the cause for the sneezing. It could however, be a combination of both, the dust and the fur making Scout’s nose irritated.

If that was the case, Scout would have to learn to live with the sneezing, because there was no way he was kicking Cat out just because the little fella had to shed his fur every now and then. And there was nothing he could do about the dustiness of the field. Not like he could ask The Administrator or Miss Pauling to sweep the ground of a goddamn desert every day.

He sat down on the bed and scratched Cat underneath the chin, right in the spot that he liked so much.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, ya know that?” he told Cat, still scratching. Cat merely closed his eyes in pleasure, enjoying the scratches that he was getting.

Scout huffed out a laugh at Cat’s expression and then he sneezed for the eight time in the same hour, making Cat flinch once more. He let out a frustrated groan and flopped down on the bed, covering his face with the palms of his hands.

For however long this was going to last, it wasn’t going to be fun.

* * *

The fight was still cancelled the next day, _thank god,_ because Scout woke up feeling like he’d been run over by a tank. There were days when he felt like this, ever since the war with Gray Mann, but it had been getting better, especially after he had talked to Medic. But it didn’t make these days feel any less shitty.

Scout had to force himself to get out of bed and go on his morning run, even though staying in bed seemed like the most appealing thing to do. But he knew that if he let himself do it once he’d want to do it the next day, and then the next and then he would feel even worse and he didn’t want that.

Besides, running always made him feel better, so running was what he did.

This time however running didn’t really make him feel much better. His throat felt sore and it felt like pins and needles were digging into his sides the entire time he spent running circles around the base. And even despite the heat that the morning brought as soon as the sun rose, he felt cold and shivery. He ended up cutting his morning run short and instead went back inside and headed to the kitchen, hoping that Engie had already begun making breakfast.

Right as he entered the kitchen, in which Engie _was_ in fact making breakfast, Scout let out his first sneeze of the day, this one big enough to make his brain rattle. He noticed Engie jump a tad at the sudden noise, much in the same way Cat had the previous day, and then he turned around and smiled at Scout.

“Mornin’ Scooter!” he called cheerily before returning his attention to the waffle pan that was sitting in front of him, wisps of steam rolling off of it.

“Morning Hardhat!”

Scout moved further into the kitchen, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of Bonk! before thinking better of it and plopping it back in the fridge, instead turning on the electric kettle. With the way he was shivering, hot tea would do him better than the cold energy drink. He’d just add a bunch of sugar to the tea to get the same effect.

He rested his hip against the kitchen counter, waiting for the water to heat up. He fiddled with his dog tags idly while he waited, watching Engie humming something to himself while he made the waffles. It reminded him of his Ma—she used to hum when she cooked as well, gently swaying in the rhythm of whatever song she was humming. It always made him giggle when he was younger, and it made him smile fondly now, as he recalled the memories.

The kettle clicked off next to him, and he poured himself some sort of tea—the packaging said fruit tea, but whether it actually was fruit tea was anyone’s guess. It didn’t matter much to him, because once he added his preferred amount of sugar into the cup, you couldn’t really tell the difference anyway.

Engie gave him a sideways glance as he added the sugar into the cup, and Scout was expecting him to say something along the lines of _ease off the sugar Scout, you’re hyperactive enough as is_ but what he said instead was, “Tea? In this sort of heat?”

Scout didn’t really have a good answer to that question, because even he found it weird that he felt cold when he should have felt like crawling out of his skin because of how hot it was outside. He’d glanced at the thermometer that hung out by the entrance of the base and it had shown that it was 94°F, and that was in the shade.

It was probably a bit cooler in the base, because they had AC running at all times, but it was still probably around 85°F inside. Definitely not cool enough for him to be shivering the way he was.

Engie was still giving him a weird look and Scout just shrugged in response, clutching the cup of hot tea between his hands. “I dunno, I just feel a bit chilly is all.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he had decided to tell the truth, but it might have been because of the nagging voice that sounded a lot like Medic telling him that he should let the team help him. Not that there was anything he needed help with. He was perfectly fine.

And because the universe loved making him contradict himself, that was the moment that his chest seized in the all too familiar way and he let out another sneeze, almost spilling the hot liquid all over his hands.

Both of Engies eyebrows disappeared under his helmet at that. “Son, I think you might be getting sick,” he said, raising his human hand towards Scout. Scout instinctively backed up, eyebrows furrowing.

“Me? Sick? Naw, no way, I’m as healthy as a horse, or whatever,” Scout said walking towards the kitchen table and sitting down, still nursing the cup of tea, which had begun to cool, “It’s just the dust and, and Cat—he’s been shedding like crazy. It’s just making my nose itchy, that’s all.”

And he wasn’t getting sick, definitely not.

Scout did not get sick just like that. He had spent three hours sitting out in the snow once when he was thirteen because he had forgot his keys and his Ma wasn’t home, and apparently his brothers had been off doing _something_ else, so he couldn’t get into the house. He felt like he had frozen solid once his Ma finally came home, and she had been scared that he would get sick and that they couldn’t afford any medicine if he did get, but he hadn’t. Scout had been perfectly fine.

All that was to say that he didn’t get sick easily. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had gotten sick, so there was no way he was getting sick now. Not way out in the desert where the closest thing to being sick he could get was a heatstroke.

Engie looked at him like he was spewing absolute nonsense, which he was _not_ , and then turned back to his waffles. “Alright, if you’re so sure,” was all he said, and that was that.

Scout spent the rest of the day lazing around the base, since the fights still weren’t back on and they probably wouldn’t be for another few days. According to Engie, during the fight yesterday a stickie from the BLU demo had detonated at a bad angle on the middle point and debris had managed to get under the plating, fucking up the sensitive motors underneath. Now they were working to fix that and it was taking longer than expected, because it had apparently done more damage than it had first seemed.

Better for Scout, he could rest for these few days, since he had been feeling pretty tired, especially today, even though he wasn’t doing anything other than sitting on the couch in the common room wrapped in a blanket with Cat in his lap, reading comics all day. The shivers hadn’t really gone away and his nose had begun to feel stuffy, making him sniffle every now and then in an effort to clear it.

The sneezing had stopped though, which was great.

He was currently lying on his bed, staring at the bare ceiling and listening to the House of the Rising Sun. His Ma really liked the song and it reminded him of her. It also made him a bit sad, but the melody was nice and he let it lull him into a sort of half sleep.

For a while he just lay there, listening to the song, thinking about nothing and everything. About how the ceiling here felt bare when compared to the one in his old room at home, with the glow in the dark stars and the stickers of different sorts of animals. How he suddenly missed his Ma real bad for no reason at all. About how he was really fucking cold despite being wrapped in his covers and about how he definitely was _not_ sick.

That was the exact moment a painful cough wrenched its way out of his sore and itchy throat, bad enough to actually make him see stars on his so very bare ceiling. The first was followed by another and it kept going for a little bit and at the end he was left feeling breathless.

Well fuck.

* * *

Scout didn’t sleep well that night at all. He kept shaking awake from the cold only to then not be able to fall asleep because everything felt too hot, and the blanket felt too heavy and itchy and he kept sweating like crazy. It was extremely frustrating and by the time the sun was rising he was completely done with trying to sleep.

He didn’t get up though, felt too tired to do that, so instead he just lay on the bed, body half covered by the blanket in an attempt to find a compromise between his body’s constant change of needs. It was working. Kind of.

Cat was sleeping next to him, in the sunlit spot on the bed, soaking up the warmth, to chase away the coolness of early morning. The sun illuminated his whiskers, making them look like they were glowing. He looked so peaceful.

A cough forced its way out of Scout’s throat, making him lean forward at the force of it and he felt breathless afterwards. Cat was looking at him now, one eye open and the other squinted the way it always was. Scout coughed again crumpling into himself, feeling like he was about to cough up his lungs from how bad the coughing was. He was definitely skipping his morning run today. 

Cat got up from his spot on the bed and waddled over to him, ready to take his usual spot on Scout’s chest as he did every morning, but Scout swatted his hand at him, mumbling a small “no” and pushing Cat back.

He really didn’t want the extra heat on his chest when he already felt like he was being cooked alive, while still also somehow feeling like he was freezing.

The feline looked just a bit offended at Scout’s actions, staring at him for a while, before turning around and getting off the bed and walking to the door, tail flicking. He looked at Scout expectantly, before looking back to the door and croaking out a low _meow._

Scout groaned. “Come on, I know there’s a hole in the wall which you always use to get in and out of the room so just—“ Scout waved his hand around, motioned towards the far wall, “—just use that.”

Cat just croaked out another _meow_ before scratching at the door, completely ignoring anything that Scout said.

“Fine,” he deadpanned, forcing himself out of the bed. “You are _killing_ me ya know that? Keep it up and I’ll just throw you out.”

Cat paid no attention to the threat, just looked Scout dead in the eye and kept scratching at the door. Scout had let him get too comfortable, the little bastard probably thought that he liked him too much to get rid of him. Which he definitely _didn’t._ He had no emotional attachment to the cat. None.

Scout stumbled over to the door, feeling like absolute shit, and got the door open just a crack—enough to let Cat slip out. Which he decidedly did not do. Scout stared at Cat. Cat stared back at him.

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Scout huffed.

Cat blinked once before _finally_ getting up and walking out the door, after about a minute of just sitting around. He was fully convinced that Cat had only done that to annoy him. He was definitely smart enough for it. He’d gotten Demo to always give him extra food and he somehow always managed to get Medic to pet him, even though Medic wasn’t a big fan of cats.

Scout felt another cough coming and he quickly closed the door, not keen on the rest of his teammates hearing. He refused to admit that he was sick, because he wasn’t. The sore throat was from all the talking. That was a thing right? It was definitely a thing.

He was _not_ sick.

Breakfast was terrible, not because the food was bad. It was Demo’s turn to cook today and Demo was absolutely amazing at cooking, despite being either drunk or hungover whenever he did it. The problem was his sore throat. He couldn’t properly taste the food because the taste was lost under the pain that came from swallowing it. Every time he swallowed a bite it felt like he was eating glass. Even drinking water was painful.

He tried not to talk too much, partially because his throat was really sore and talking hurt and partially because he didn’t want the others to hear how hoarse his voice was. Because then they would worry, and there was no point for that because he wasn’t sick.

As soon as Medic came into the room, uncharacteristically late, Scout mumbled something about having to clean up his room and excused himself from the table, suppressing another cough as he left the room.

He spent the whole day mostly cooped up in his room, trying and failing to catch up on missed sleep. The shivering was gone, which was great, but it had been replaced by a constant heat that radiated from his chest and made sitting in the already hot base absolute hell. By the time the evening came he felt like a wrung out towel, all floppy and weak. The heat was still pulsing beneath his skin, hot and uncomfortable, only now it was accompanied by random aches all over his body.

He felt like absolute shit.

And when another horrifically painful cough tore through his body, making his chest seize and his muscles ache he finally admitted defeat. He _was_ sick.

With that out of the way, he dragged himself out of his room and down to Medic’s office, hoping to catch the Doc and get an actual diagnosis. Somewhere along the relatively short walk over he came across Cat, who apparently decided to keep Scout company on his visit to Medic.

He knocked on Medic’s door once he got there, and as soon as he got something that sounded like an invite in, he pushed through the door and went into the room. A few doves fluttered overhead and as soon as Medic, who was sitting in his usual spot by the desk, signing papers or whatever, noticed that Scout was accompanied by Cat he got up from his desk, shaking his head.

“Nein, not him. No cats allowed in this room,” he shooed Cat away, making sure that he went through the door and closing it once Cat was on the other side of it, “I don’t want another incident with that _beast_.”

“Uhhh, what incident?” Scout asked, voice rough. He cleared his throat.

“One involving that thing and one of my precious doves. You’re lucky it wasn’t Archimedes or I would have skinned that cat alive,” he shook his head before looking up at Scout. “So, why are you here?”

Scout fiddled with his dog tags. Just cause he had admitted to himself that he was sick didn’t mean that it was easy to admit it to someone else. Medic mistook his hesitance for something else as he asked, “Is it something to do with the episodes again? Have the panic attacks come back?”

He quickly corrected him, “No, no, it’s not that at all. I just—“ he looked at the ground, working up the courage to get the words out. Why was it so hard? “—I just uhh, I think I might be sick,” it came out more as a question than a statement.

Medic raised an eyebrow at him, then gestured towards the examination table, patting the metal top in an invitation to sit. Scout sat.

“What is the problem exactly?”

Scout thought about it for a bit before answering, counting off his symptoms on his fingers, “Sneezing, coughing, sore throat, weakness, achy muscles, ummm, a fever maybe?” He lifted his own hand to touch his own forehead. It felt hot, but then again, everything felt hot right now.

Medic nodded along to what he was saying, turned around when Scout finished talking and went to rummage around in one of his cabinets. After a small moment he turned back around, this time holding a thermometer in his hand.

“Open your mouth and place this under your tongue, bitte.”

Scout did so, letting the cold meal of the tip of the thermometer rest against the underside of his tongue until a small beep sounded. Medic took it from him, reading the numbers displayed on the small screen.

He hummed. “Ja, you do have a fever, nothing too high just yet, but it could go up if you are not careful. From what you said this sounds like a common cold, so there is no need to worry.” He set the thermometer down on his desk and looked back up to Scout, “Your body is going to do the work for you, you just have to let it rest. Drink some warm tea with honey, that will help. Do not drink anything cold,” he looked at Scout pointedly, “That means no refrigerated energy drinks for you. You may feel hot right now, but cold drinks will not help, especially for your throat.”

Scout nodded. “Nothing cold, got it.”

“Just let your body work through the sickness. The fever will hopefully be gone in a day or two. If it gets worse, you need to come to me _immediately._ Do you understand?”

Scout nodded again.

“Alright then, get out of here. And take your furry beast with you, I don’t want him anywhere near my doves.” Medic turned around and went back to his desk, sitting down and rummaging through the papers stacked high in front of him. Scout hopped off the table and left the room with a hoarse “goodnight”.

Cat was still sitting outside of the room, waiting patiently for Scout and he scratched him between the ears before picking him up and heading back up to his room.

The next few days were going to be fun.

* * *

That weekend passed mostly in a blur for Scout. Most of it was spent sleeping under a pile of blankets, waiting out the fever.

Medic must have told the rest of the team about his condition, because whenever he woke up between fevered dreams, there was a bowl of warm soup and a glass of room temperature water sitting on his bedside table. Cat also seemed to come and go, one moment sleeping next to Scout and the next nowhere to be found in the room.

Saturday was the worst, the fever being at its height then and Scout had felt like he had been hit by a truck. The dreams didn’t help any, in fact, they just made everything much more confusing. They were nonsensical and more based on sounds and feelings than actual images. He always got weird dreams when he was sick, he had just forgotten how weird and unpleasant they could be.

Thankfully by Saturday evening his fever broke and by Saturday morning he already felt about ten times better than the day before.

He actually went down to breakfast, and though his throat was still a bit sore and every now and then the conversation at the breakfast table was interrupted by small coughs, Scout felt almost completely back to normal. He even volunteered to go with Demo and Engie into town, being sick (ha) and tired of spending all his time cooped up inside of the base.

The heat had let up somewhat and though the day was still quite hot, it definitely wasn’t as bad as it had been before. There was actually a nice cool wind blowing that helped ease the bite of the sun’s rays. Overall the day was nice and Scout enjoyed the trip into town. He still felt a bit drained and like he had done way more than just walk around town and help collect groceries at the end of it, but mostly he was just happy that the sickness had passed relatively quickly and without much trouble.

After dinner he went with Medic back to his office to make sure that he really was okay and mostly back to normal. After checking him over and listening to him breathe for a bit Medic confirmed that the worst of the illness had indeed passed and that he should be completely back to full health within the next few days.

It was a good thing too because the fights were back on the next week and Scout was sure that The Administrator wouldn’t take too kindly to him missing any fights because he was feeling a little sick.

So with a promise to take it easy for the few next day’s he left Medic to his papers and went off to his own room, ready to enjoy a full night of uninterrupted, blissful sleep.

* * *

Monday morning came and went without much incident. Scout still didn’t feel like he was completely back to his full strength, but it was a near enough thing. The battle passed just like any other day of fighting—he got some kills in, he died a few times, capped some points. Overall he did pretty good. There were a few moment where he suddenly felt a bit weak and even a little dizzy, but he figure that that was cause he had just been sick and technically was still recovering.

It was nothing major for sure.

At the end of the day he definitely felt more tired than usual, but again—he had just been sick, so that was perfectly normal. He decided to just go to sleep earlier and let his body get some extra rest. Medic _had_ said to take it easy for a few days. Sleeping would definitely be considered as taking it easy. Sure, maybe Medic had been referring to the actual fights, but he couldn’t slack off on those. He had to prove that he was good, had to make sure they didn’t think he was weak.

So yeah, going to sleep earlier would have to do. A few extra hours of sleep would definitely do him some good.

The next morning however came out of nowhere and hit Scout like a ton of bricks. Upon opening his eyes he realized that he didn’t feel like he had slept a wink.

Nothing had bothered him during the night, he hadn’t woken up once, not from coughing or from a weird dream. Nothing. As far as he knew he had slept as a baby. It didn’t feel like it though. The same tiredness that had clung to his bones for the past few days seemed to still be there, only now it felt ten times worse.

This made no sense.

Medic had said that he was all good, the cold was gone. He wasn’t sick anymore, so why did he feel so bad? Unless Medic had missed something…

Scout shook his head, no.

Medic knew what he was doing, if he had said that Scout was fine, then he _was_ fine. This fatigue was probably because of yesterdays fight, he’d probably just overworked his still recovering body in his need to prove himself. Whatever. This wasn’t the first time Scout had gone to work without sleeping well or at all. And he actually _had_ slept this time, it just didn’t feel like it. So it would be fine.

Getting out of bed proved to be more difficult than was expected, and once he actually did get up various aches and twinges made themselves known. Scout felt sore all over, felt like he had spent the previous day doing nothing else but mindless exercise under Soldier’s supervision.

But again, it wasn’t uncommon to feel sore after fights and they had had five whole days without any fighting at all. Hell, all Scout had done for that time was lie in bed for hours on end and stumble down to the kitchen at the appropriate times to grab a bite to eat. So it wasn’t surprising that he felt achy, he hadn’t warmed up properly before yesterday’s fight and he hadn’t had any proper exercise for almost a week.

Breakfast passed as it usually did—with Scout chattering everyones ears off and general ruckus between Soldier and whichever poor soul he had decided to terrorize over one obscure thing or another. This time the misfortune had fallen on Spy, but the usual chaos of any conversation held between Soldier and literally anyone was kept to a minimum as Spy had quickly extracted himself from the unwanted interaction by simply cloaking and just walking away.

Out of everyone Spy was the most effective when it came to deescalating a tense situation with Soldier by simple doing exactly that any time it seemed like the other man would do something that no-one would enjoy witnessing or experiencing. Of course this really only worked when Spy was the one Soldier was targeting, but it worked nonetheless.

In any other situation it was Engie who was the best at calming anyone down. Scout still hadn’t figured out how he did it. He had been on the receiving end of one of Engie’s stern looks countless times and every time it stopped him in his tracks and all the mean and angry words just shriveled up and died right there on his tongue.

There had been no need for Engie to intervene this time as Soldier just let Spy walk off and for once decided not to bother anyone else, though Scout caught him throwing a weird look Pyro’s way.

Once everyone started getting up from the table and heading towards the teleporter that would take them to the field Scout realized that he had barely eaten anything. Heavy had made his world famous sandwiches, but looking at them now, Scout just felt queasy. He knew how good they tasted, they were the only sandwiches that came close to his Ma’s sandwiches. Nothing could beat his Ma’s sandwiches though—they just had that special taste of warmth and home that nothing else could replicate.

He really didn’t feel like eating though. Scout absolutely knew how important breakfast was, especially for him and his lightning fast metabolism, but he just couldn’t force himself to do it. Skipping a meal for one day wouldn’t be that bad…

Throwing one last glance at the food still sitting on the table Scout took off after everyone else. He didn’t want to miss the start of the fight (or he would never hear the end of it from Spy) and he still had to wrap his hands _and_ check his guns over.

Thankfully he managed to get everything done just in time for the fight to start and he was only a few steps behind everyone else when they left resupply. It ended up being a good thing that he’d been behind everyone else, because as soon as he stepped through the gates of the room, and the wooden roof gave way to blue skies and sunlight he stopped in his tracks, eyes tightly squeezed shut.

It had felt like the light had physically stabbed him. It had pierced through his eyes and into his skull, bringing on a sudden wave of dizziness. He stood there, breathing deeply, hands covering his eyes, for a few minutes, trying to recover from the pain that a something as simple as the sun shining in his eyes had brought.

After the dizziness and the pain had mostly disappeared he slowly uncovered his eyes, squinting at the brightness. It still felt like his eyes were being stabbed, like the light itself had turned into a sharp knife that was repeatedly piercing into him, but this time it was a bit more bearable, now that he was expecting it.

Blinking a few times and pointedly looking at the ground Scout began moving again, following the sounds of gunfire to determine where exactly he should be going. He couldn’t stand around by respawn forever. Someone was bound to die pretty soon and when they came running out they would question why exactly Scout was just standing around instead of going off and helping in the fight.

So off he went, eyes fixed on the ground more than on his surroundings, hands trembling around his gun, and a slowly building headache pounding behind his eyes. He somehow managed to kill the Medic that he literally bumped into, but once he came across someone who could actually do a lot of damage he was stumbling out of respawn within seconds, stomach lurching and body shaking.

The exhaustion that he had felt in the morning had grown exponentially, to the point where he felt like he could barely stand, legs unsteady, shaky, and he was pretty sure that even the slightest breeze could knock him over. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling and the headache had gone from a dull throb to a sharp ache. Even the smallest glance at anything bright enough to illuminate a room brought a sharp pain to his eyes.

Something was definitely wrong.

He felt _Bad_. Capital b bad. The only other time when he had felt this bad was when he had gotten in a fight with one of the bigger kid’s at school and three or four of them had had a go at him. He had to go to the hospital after that beat down and it had cost his Ma a fortune. Ma’s new boyfriend hadn’t been pleased about that either so he had gotten a rough talking to once he didn’t look like he would die from simply being looked at for too long.

Though his memory of that particular incident was a bit foggy on account of having had the crap beat out of him, he was still pretty sure that compared to now, the pain might have been worse. But a very important fact was that it had been an actual physical fight, with actual physical injuries, so it was no surprise that that had felt worse than just simply being sick.

So him feeling as bad as he was without any actual injuries was a bit concerning.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it however. They were in the middle of a fight, by all accounts in the middle of doing their job, so Scout couldn’t just walk out. He’d have to power through the day while also trying not to fuck up too badly in a way that anyone would notice that something was wrong with him.

He leaned against the wall to help himself get up from the cool floor (when had he sat down?) and once he was in a somewhat upright position he took several deep breaths in an attempt to make the dizziness and general feeling of sickness go away. It helped a little.

Then he was off again, gun in his shaking hands and eyes entirely too unfocused to really hit anything.

The heat felt like an actual physical weight that was resting on his shoulders, draining him of his strength and pushing him down to the ground. He tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible, because, one, the dimness of them brought a small relief to his aching eyes and two, because being out in direct sunlight felt like being down in the deepest chambers of hell.

It also technically helped him ambush the enemy BLU’s, because they didn’t notice him nor did they expect him to really be hanging out in some dark dim corner, sitting still and quiet. Normally he was jumping all over the place, yelling insults and crude remarks in an attempt to irritate the other team. It worked well enough usually, but right now even the thought of moving that much made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

For a while he actually did pretty well, all things considered, and though he still felt like absolute shit it wasn’t getting worse. Or at least it didn’t feel like it was getting worse. Or maybe he was just too dizzy and confused to be able to tell whether it was getting worse or not.

The BLU team quickly caught on to his ‘strategy’ and either the Pyro, Demo or Soldier would make sure to properly make sure that any place dim enough to hide in was clear and didn’t contain one sick-out-of-his-mind Scout.

Once they had managed to kill him three times in a row without him managing to get a single shot off he realized that he had to change tactics. But… there wasn’t anything else that he could do really. He couldn’t just hide somewhere high up the whole time, Scout wasn’t a sniper. He had to be close to be able to kill anyone, but he had a feeling that pulling his usual stunts wouldn’t work with the condition he was in right now.

He didn’t really have a choice though.

So off he went, feet pounding into the sandy ground unsteadily, the scorching heat beating down on him from above, making him feel like he was being cooked alive. Any time he took a turn too sharply nausea rose up his throat and clouded his already foggy mind and it made him stumble pathetically. It was overwhelming; the loud gunshots, people yelling, the bright light blinding him any time he looked up too much. A time or two he accidentally stumbled in the wrong direction and realized only because it was too quiet and bearable that he was in the wrong place.

Thankfully no-one saw him make that mistake.

He tried to keep away from his teammates as much as possible but with how chaotic everything was he wasn’t too sure he managed. At one point he was running towards what he was assumed was the enemy, ready to load them full of bullets only to stop when, what he had though was the enemy Medic, turned his medigun on him and started healing him. For a second a pleasant coolness had washed over him and lake the waves in the ocean it had washed away the aches and the nausea like it was nothing but pictures in the sand. And then the relief was gone, as Medic turned away and everything slammed back into him like a sledgehammer.

After that he spent a while sneaking off to Engie’s dispenser, the healing fumes working in a similar way as Medic’s medigun. He stopped once Engie started throwing odd looks at him, looking like he was about to ask questions that Scout did not want to answer.

For a while he felt almost half-alright, if alright was getting black spots in his vision whenever he moved too fast and almost throwing up after turning his head too sharply. He actually thought that he might be able to get through the day. But then he ran into the enemy Soldier.

It seemed like he had caught him at a bad moment because he was quickly trying to reload his shotgun, rocket launcher cast off to the side, presumably empty of rockets. For a second he thought that this would be an easy win—he was definitely better with his scattergun than the Soldier who primarily used a rocket launcher was with a shotgun. But what he didn’t count on was the fact that the Soldier had a third weapon, and once Scout was close enough to get some good shots in, the Soldier pulled out a shovel, seemingly out of nowhere, and whacked him in the head _hard._

The hit knocked him down on his back, knocking the air right out of his lungs, and all the aches he had learned to tune out came back full force, accompanied by overwhelming nausea and dizziness. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes and all he could think in that moment was _do not throw up, for the love of god don’t throw up._

He didn’t throw up.

Or he didn’t throw up there, by the feet of the enemy Soldier. He did throw up once he staggered out of respawn, the room spinning and his stomach turning. Then he was stumbling to the ground and once he was down he realized that he would not be getting up.

The room was still spinning and though he was laying on the cool floor all he felt was an intense heat coursing through his veins, pressing in from all sides, making him shake. His breath was coming out quickly, not unlike how it was when he was having a panic attack, but this was no panic attack. He was familiar enough with those to be able to tell the difference.

Scout looked around, tried to find something to help him up, but everything was hazy, nothing but blobs of color. His head was throbbing painfully, felt like it was being crushed and then he accidentally glanced at the lamp and there was a flash of sharp pain behind his eyes, like he was being pierced by thousands of needles. And then everything went dark.

He wasn’t sure if he passed out or if he just closed his eyes on reflex, but everything that came after was one big blur. He didn’t know how long he lay there on the floor, shaking and scared before he heard a voice saying something. He couldn’t understand anything though, it was like he was underwater, or behind a thick glass wall. Everything was muted.

Soon the voice was accompanied by more voices. They all sounded frantic, worried. Why were they worried? Should he be worried too? He didn’t get to think about that as he was lifted off the floor and taken… somewhere.

It was hard to tell what was happening with his eyes closed. Scout tried opening them, but his eyelids felt like they weighed five hundred pounds. So instead he tried listening. It was hard, with everything so muted. He felt like he was miles away and it seemed like he was losing time, as one moment there were at least six different voices around him but then there were only two. When had the others left?

Then he was cold. So, so cold. Water was splashing around him and he wanted _out._ Why were they making him go into the cold? It was so cold it felt painful. The water felt like it was burning against him, white hot pain was racing up his whole body and he tried to get out _. Please just let me out._ He tried leaving but there were hands holding him down, pushing him back into the freezing cold. Someone was shouting, loud and distraught and there was a murmur of voices, quieter but still frenzied.

Scout stopped struggling.

He felt drained, empty, wrung out. He let himself sink back into the darkness. The pain disappeared and so did everything else. He was just floating through a black abyss, void of anything but him and his thoughts. It was nice, pleasant. It felt warm. Not burning hot or freezing cold—warm. Like his Ma’s hugs or the bed when you woke up in the morning. He wanted to stay there forever.

The darkness was receding, falling away from him, or he was falling away from _it._ No, no he wanted to stay. He reached out his arms, tried to clutch at something, anything, just to make sure he stayed there. There was nothing to grab though, and down, down, down, he fell. Away from the warmth, away from the calm.

Scout jerked awake, tried sitting upright only for someone to push him back down lightly.

“Easy there junge, you are safe.”

Who was that, Medic? Why was Medic in his room?

He blinked open his eyes, only to immediately shut them at the sudden brightness. He held his eyes shut for a moment and then slowly eased them open, bit by bit, adjusting to the brightness of the room.

The first thing that he noticed was the white blanket that covered him. The blanket in his room was baby blue (the team had had a kick out of that) which meant that he was _not_ in his room. The next thing he noticed was Cat, lying on the blanket next to him, a pleasant warmth at his side. The third thing he noticed was the medigun that was positioned to his right, aimed right at him and only then did he recognize the feeling of being healed. And then he realized that he actually felt good. Better than he had felt in days.

“Good to see you awake.”

Scout glanced towards the voice and sure enough, there was Medic. Standing by his bedside, hands clasped behind his back. He was in Medic’s office.

“Hey, Doc,” he croaked. His throat felt really sore, but not the kind of sore that you got from being sick.

“I had to put you on the ventilator,” Medic said, as if reading his mind. The ventilator—that meant that there had been a tube stuck down his throat. Scout grimaced at the thought of that.

He sat up more upright, in a more comfortable position and Cat shifted with him. “How long was I out?”

“A day. It’s Tuesday evening right now. I had to sedate you.” Medic looked at him hard. “Any particular reason why you didn’t tell anyone why weren’t feeling good?”

Scout reached out for his dog tags, only to realize that they weren’t around his neck, so he settled his hands on the blanket, fiddling with the hem of it. He was pointedly not looking at Medic.

“I—I don’t know, I… I didn’t think it was that bad,” he shrugged. “You said I was good, so I thought—“

“You thought that you couldn’t get sick again? Scout, just because I said you were fine, doesn’t mean that you should ignore what your body is trying to tell you. You clearly noticed that you weren’t feeling right, I saw you sitting by the dispenser multiple times.”

Medic sighed and sat down in a chair by his desk, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You are lucky we have respawn. On top of the fever coming back you also got heatstroke. You could have _died_. Actually died. The system can bring you back only so many times and by the time we found you, your organs were already beginning to fail.”

Scout stopped petting Cat, the severity of the situation sinking in. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed hard.

“Uh, thanks for, ya know, not letting me die Doc.” He tried for a smile, but it ended up coming out as more of a grimace.

Medic raised an eyebrow, looked like he was going to say more, but then he just shook his head and turned back to his papers. “Get some rest junge, you are still recovering.”

Scout nodded, then realized that Medic was no longer looking at him. “Yeah alright,” he said and settled back against the pillows, hand moving to pet Cat again. Then he realized something. “Uh hey Doc, you said that Cat wasn’t allowed in here anymore.”

Medic waved his hand vaguely. “The thing wouldn’t stop scratching at my door while you were in here, so I let him in.” A pause. “And animals help with sicknesses…”

That second thing sounded made up to Scout, but he decided not to question it. Instead he pulled Cat closer to himself and sank down under the blanket, closing his eyes. As unconsciousness claimed him the last thing he thought was how nice it was to not be sick. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr: [maiiyoz](https://maiiyoz.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Unfortunately Cat did not make as much of an appearance here as I would have liked, but I'll try to write something where he is a bit more prominent soon.


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